


The butler's choice

by Mme10thDoctor



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Introspection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mme10thDoctor/pseuds/Mme10thDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Tyler loves the butler, John Smith loves the heiress. It should be simple. It isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would've never been posted without the very talented Sarahlizaparker's help.  
> Read her, she's a fantastic writer.  
> She has beta-read, helped and supported me through the major or minor issues I've met on my way. Endless thanks.  
> I've tinkered a bit after she read my story for the last time, so any mistake is mine.
> 
> This story is loosely inspired on the delightful fic "Trouble with the help" by Gallifreyslostson.

The butler's choice  
by Mme10thDoctor 

 

Chapter 1 

 

Rose applied a final layer of mascara, then smoothed with nervous fingers some inexistents wrinkles on her midnight blue ball gown. With one last look in the mirror, she examined her reflection and adjusted her beaded necklace. Her blond hair was styled into an elegant chignon and embellished with two small pearl encrusted combs (gift of house staff). 

 

The high heels made her gain the centimeters she needed for the execution of her plan. This was the night or never. The next day she would leave for a mini cruise and then she would leave for a one year internship at the Vitex subsidiary in Italy. She hadn't yet decided the rest of her future. “Wait and see,” as they said. In any case, it would depend on how the evening would unfold. 

 

She smiled at herself in the mirror and crossed her fingers. 

 

When Rose, torn between excitement and nervous expectation, appeared on top of the main staircase, all the guests were already there and the party was in full swing. 

 

Her father, Peter Tyler, joined her, and with a small gesture, muted the music for the announcement that he was going to make. 

Jackie, Rose's mother, joined them and took affectionately her daughter's hand in hers. 

 

"Today we are gathered to celebrate a birthday and a departure. Our adorable daughter Rose's 20th birthday and her leaving home as a young adult..." 

 

Rose hardly heard a single word of her father's speech. Her amber eyes scanned the crowd of guests and house staff, found the object of her quest, and had settled on the butler. 

 

In a trance, all she could see was him. The gentle look in his beautiful brown eyes, his tender smile, freckles that dotted his handsome features framed by his sideburns, the wild brown hair. She was rendered out of breath. All the staff was dressed to the nines and John Smith, with his black suit and bow tie was, to say at least, utterly gorgeous. 

 

He gave her a small wave and all that Rose could do was answer with a little shy smile. Apparently he was not going to facilitate her task. How was she supposed to keep her cool head in front of someone who had decided to complicate her the simple task of breathing? 

 

Applause woke her from her trance; Rose finally mingled with the crowd of friends and relatives. The first part of the evening passed like a dream. She couldn't have told, at all, to whom she had spoken, danced or laughed. Her gaze was attracted, as a magnet, towards a very specific direction in the expectation of seeing him appear again. 

All her energy was focused on how to gather enough courage to do what she had been planning to do for months. 

 

The guests had scattered here and there in the ballroom and the park. The staff circulated with trays full of appetizers and Champagne filled flutes. 

 

She spotted Keisha and Shareen dancing with some former classmates. As for Mickey, he stood, a little farther, in full conversation with another friend. 

 

It was time to slip away. Rose headed towards the orchestra for a very special request, but was stopped by a friend who asked her for a dance. 

 

As she danced, squeezed to suffocate, she glimpsed the butler's tall figure slipping through the french doors overlooking the park. 

 

Finally liberated from her insisting companion, she could make her request to the orchestra and walk to the summer pavilion. 

 

Rose crossed the park with a light foot and found herself at the edge of the swimming pool. The Pavilion nearby had been elegantly decorated. A large dome protected the three-layer chocolate cake that she had to cut immediately after the fireworks. 

 

The butler was busy putting the finishing touches to one of the tables. He heard her footsteps, turned with a smile, and gave her a wink. He knew very well the footstep of each member of the house and would have recognized hers, among all others in the world. 

 

The first notes of “Moonlight Serenade,” her special request, reached them vaguely muffled. Rose held out her hand. 

 

"Dance with me, John." 

 

"Rose, I'm trying to—” he looked totally wrongfooted. Or embarrassed, maybe. He ruffled his thick brown hair with one hand. 

 

"The house doesn’t collapse if the butler dances. Come, let the birthday girl dance before her departure. In memory of our dancing lessons." She gave him the smile which nobody, including him (especially him), since forever, could resist. 

 

He looked at her. Something, which too soon disappeared, flickered in his eyes. Gone too fast to be interpreted. She wondered if, perhaps, this “something” had only existed in her imagination or hopes. 

 

"Rose, I—" he made a helpless gesture. 

 

"Just to show you that I have put our lessons to profit." Her tone was dangerously (for him) flirting. 

 

"I've already seen you dance." He knew that his weak protest would be useless. Anyway, with Rose, the whole battle was lost. In advance. He knew it from experience. 

 

"But not with you. Not for ages. Please, just this dance. You can't say no. This is our song." He gave her a funny smile, as if she had missed a joke, but obeyed and stepped forward slightly, accepting, finally, Rose's hand in his and bringing her delicately in his arms. 

 

They began to dance, almost unmoving. After a few moments of silence, John (who simply enjoyed being so close to her), tilted his head to murmur in her ear "Happy birthday, Miss Tyler." His breath provoked a delicious shiver along her spine and she steadied herself for what was to come. Now. It would be the moment or never. The consequences be damned. 

 

Rose raised her head, their faces a mere few centimeters apart, their breaths mingling. Their closeness gave her dizziness and trembling legs. On a final act of courage, Rose, whispered "I love you," before bringing her lips on John's. 

 

He stiffened, almost immediately, and although with infinite gentleness, he pushed her away placing both hands on her shoulders. 

He gazed at her with a serious look, frowned eyebrows, during a short moment then, in a voice rendered vibrant with emotion, while shaking his head at the same time he exhaled: "No." His breath was labored and his jaw tense. His dimple was visible on his cheek. 

 

They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments more, then he looked away with grieving eyes. Rose gave up to understand, her senses anesthetized by the suffering. 

The whole scene had lasted only a few seconds. For her it had felt the length of a lifetime. 

 

"You're right, Mr. Smith, no one is meant to do that. Simple etiquette isn't it? The staff and the masters should not spawn together." 

 

Before definitely losing her dignity, bursting into tears in front of him, Rose turned her back, and without another word, walked hastily away. 

 

John stood there, unable to move a muscle, arms dangling at his sides, an expression of endless and desperate sadness painted on his pale, handsome face. 

 

# 

 

Rose was desperate. The love of her life had rejected her with one single word. With a “No” he had shattered her heart and her hopes. 

She walked blindly through the park until she was stopped and pulled for a dance. 

 

"John did you happen to have seen my daughter, by any chance? It's time for fireworks and cake and we can't manage to find her anywhere." 

 

The butler straightened his shoulders. "No, Mr. Tyler, I haven't. Not for about two hours at least." His expression became concerned and determined. "I'm going directly, I know some of her favorite hiding places." 

 

He strode off towards the gardens. He had a little idea of where he could find Rose. How to approach her was another matter. 

 

He headed straight for their favorite spot. And, indeed, he found her there. 

 

Alas. She was not alone. 

 

Back against the rough surface of a tree, she was twisted like a snake to someone. This someone's back was the only thing he could see. It was more than enough. And she was just... 

 

He felt the urge to empty the contents of his stomach. On the spot. 

He stared, bewitched, the scene unfolding before his eyes. His feet disobeyed his orders to leave the place immediately denying him the right not to be obliged, himself, above all others, to witness that. 

 

He forced himself to fix his stare on her face rather than on the very action itself. He was going to be sick. He, already, felt the bile making its way burning his throat in the process. 

Rose had her eyes closed. Traces of mascara streaked her face twisted in suffering. Even from where he stood, he could see fresh and silent tears, which continued to flow, watering down, even more, the rest of her makeup. 

 

He hated himself one more notch. 

 

Finally, after a sudden retching, he managed to escape without bothering to wipe his own tears. He wondered if he might, one day, forget the scene he had just witnessed. And especially who was directly responsible of it. He wished to disappear from the face of the earth. 

 

# 

 

Rose recomposed her gown and her countenance. She raised her chin defiantly and smiled, hiding her despair like a consummate actress. Once ready, she headed to the main building where a party in her honor was taking place. 

 

She had allowed, encouraged even, to be seduced. She had experienced love without love, only to forget her pain. In defiance to the butler's rejection. John, the man whom she was madly in love with. Since forever. The man who didn't want her love. 

 

The one with whom she had longed to discover everything. 

 

Not only what she had done hadn't softened her pain and the stinging burn of an offered and refused love, but she felt dirty, fatigued and more miserable than ever. Moreover the disgust of herself was gnawing her from inside, she hadn't been fair to her ex-boyfriendAdam, and she had been girlish and selfish. She had used him. That was the only word which could describe her actions. 

 

She had met him at a party and they had started dating pretty quickly. Their romance had lasted a couple of years. Because of Rose's hopes about John, for her part with Adam there was nothing serious. As for the young man, he was full of matrimonial projects. It was why she had felt induced to break a few months before the birthday party. She wanted to offer him the opportunity to meet someone who could give him what she couldn't. Her love. 

 

When Adam had approached her, she had just returned from her unfortunate meeting with John. Under an impulse she had decided to drown her pain in Adam's arms. That had neither relieved her pain, nor set free the young man. When everything had been over, she had felt that she owed him an explanation, and a frank talk. The party had ended by breaking two hearts. Rose was not proud. 

 

 

On her way back to the party, she wondered about all the reasons which had made her fall madly in love with the butler right from the start. 

 

It wasn't because he was downright gorgeous, and John was gorgeous in all the acceptations of the term. It wasn't only because of the beaming smile that he had made her when she had opened the door that day. The first day of which was destined to become an unsinkable friendship. Till this night. 

 

What she especially loved were his qualities and his flaws. His way of moving in the world and with the others. With her. He had been so sweet and patient with her when she was just a restless kid trying, unsuccessfully, to make him lose patience. 

 

But there was much more than that. She admired his brilliance, liveliness and contagious good mood. His knowledge on everything and anything. His quotations of poems, songs, movies. She loved also his rare dark mood. 

 

What she loved in him was what she suspected, bubbling under a controlled surface: Passion. A Byronic romanticism. And so much more. He looked strong, yet ultimately breakable. What she loved were his weaknesses and his needs. She also loved his contradictions 

 

And she had been dying to find out what his lips didn't say but what his eyes betrayed anyway. 

She wanted so much to discover what hurt him and to soften his suffering. Just with her love. 

 

As she headed back to the gathering, she kept telling herself that it had been a very bad idea to reconnect with her ex boyfriend. Bad for him, because he kept hoping for something impossible and for her because...She shook her head and kept walking. 

 

As in a dream, Rose, let the fireworks begin. In a daze she cut the first slices of her birthday cake and opened her presents. 

 

The butler wasn't anywhere to be seen. 

She was relieved, because she didn't think she could face his pity or his sharp eye which, with a single glance, would have known. She was feeling ashamed enough at the moment. 

 

Rose was finally able to sneak off to her room. Her jaw ached from showing a fake contented smile. Fortunately, she hadn't crossed path with John because she couldn't have stood it. 

 

The next day she would leave the mansion. All this would be only a bad memory. A last crazy night before entering the workforce. A last firework before having to say goodbye to her girlish dreams. 

 

She threw herself, fully clothed, on the bed and could unleash the torrent of tears that had threatened to suffocate her all evening. 

 

The next morning she got ready, like a robot, and gathered her nerve to go, personally, greet each member of the household. 

 

She didn’t fetch the butler, who was mysteriously absent for the customary farewells. Neither did she ask about his absence that day of all. 

 

She turned her back to the mansion without a last look and then she climbed in the car to be driven to Heathrow. 

 

 

John tried to regulate his erratic breathing. Forehead against one of the windows of the first floor, he witnessed, blank expression and heavy heart, Rose's departure. It hadn't escaped him that she didn't once turned her gaze towards the mansion (or more so, towards his window). 

 

It was killing him. 

 

# 

 

 

The Limousine had just left taking with it most of his heart. Suddenly he felt empty, because Rose was gone. 

 

Was it only the day prior that he had held her in his arms? 

 

He had pressed her against his chest for a too short moment. They had danced. Rose had whispered him her love. She had kissed him. He had rejected her. How stupid could he be? 

 

The feeling of their lips-to-lips had been divine. It had taken him all his willpower not to return the favour and had been even harder to end it. 

 

Yet not only would he have loved for it to last forever, but if he hadn't kept himself in check, he would have made love to her then and there. Sod the consequences. 

 

He had hurt and pushed away the woman he loved. Instead of claiming her as his forever he had forever pushed her away from him. He had had his reasons, of course, but he couldn't help but feeling a complete failure. 

 

Throughout his suffering, however, he marveled at the fact that she loved him. He, John Smith: mere butler. He wondered how she could love a man who was her elder by 11 years. A simple bloke who was, in addition, just a servant. His servant. Someone with a past burdened with losses. A man who was afraid of being governed by his feelings. 

 

He knew that Rose had a great affection for him. He had also figured out that she “practiced” her seductive power on him. He kept saying to himself, for his heart's safety, that he had nothing to do with it. She was just waiting for her peers. 

 

As far as he was concerned, anyway, she didn't need because he already belonged to her. He would have never suspected that she was in love with him. He had never let himself hope that his reveries, in the solitude of his room (and outside of it), might one day become a reality. 

 

Out of an act of gallantry and honor (so very stupid, now that he thought about it in retrospect), he had given her up. 

 

He had been in the summer pavilion when he had heard her footsteps. His heart had pounded wildly and he had tried to hide his emotion behind a smile and a wink. 

 

She had asked him to make her dance. Dance with her? He would have spent his entire life making her dance. He had felt exposed. Their song? Ridiculous. Every song was theirs. 

Rose, my Rose. 

 

He had known that his fingers would have gotten burned, but he had agreed to dance with her. Then she had said, "I love you," and had kissed him. With three little words, she had rendered him giddy and had complicated his life forever. 

 

He would never forgive himself for his deeds (or, more precisely, the lack thereof). 

 

He had led her to throw herself into someone else's arms. He had thrown her, to put it bluntly, into another man's arms. 

 

He hadn't had the nerve to face her eyes, therefore he had avoided her for the rest of the evening. 

 

He had disappeared in his quarters, pretending a discomfort, and had remained there until her departure. 

 

Emotionally exhausted, he scrubbed his hands over his face, then went down to the kitchens. 

 

# 

 

He remembered, perfectly well, the day he had become the Tyler’s butler. Even though almost a decade had passed. He recalled—even better—the young girl who had won him with a smile. 

If he had to give a specific date, his love story had begun that day. Precisely. 

 

Independent, strong-headed, mischievous, passionate, intelligent, sweet and compassionate. 

Rose, with one single smile, managed to be right even when she was wrong. 

 

 

Among his most precious memories of Rose, there was one in particular from a few weeks before the famous birthday party. They were watching a horror film that she had insisted on, and he had stirred a little, making her turn her head towards him. Suddenly he had realized how incredibly close they were. But, most of all, he had realized that he didn't care, for the least, if their proximity might appear somewhat... inadequate. 

 

Both had made an unconscious movement towards the other. He had almost kissed her. For the first time he had wondered that, perhaps, she wouldn't have protested. 

 

When she left, he considered resigning for the first time. 

 

When he realized that he was not coming back home, he thought again of resigning. The idea of being at her home without her, surrounded by her things and all of the memories, was killing him slowly. How could he go on with the living phantom of the woman he loved?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

 

After three months cruising, Rose, felt better. Yet not enough to return home directly (deal with John, in other words) before setting sail for Rome to begin her internship at the Vitex subsidiary. Thus she did what any woman in her situation would have done; she chickened out. She called her parents and found a vague excuse to explain her direct departure for Italy. Needless to say, Jackie, wasn't amused and let her daughter know, fairly noisily, what she really thought about that matter. Rose only shrugged and left on the aeroplane. 

The whirlwind of gala evenings, in long dresses and tuxedos, made her dizzy and distracted her from other thoughts. Well, one single thought. Her success was rather mild. She couldn't help thinking about the charm and innate elegance of a certain person. A certain butler who wore the bow tie as if he had been born with it. A man she was still in love with. Desperately.

When she wrote or called home, Rose, never asked about her old friend and accomplice. Every time her parents tried to speak about him, she cut them short with an excuse or another. Tired of falling on him, when she phoned home (hanging up as soon as she heard his voice), she called her parents only on theirs mobiles. How could she keep forgetting that, answering the phone, was one of his duties? Her subconscious fault, undoubtedly. 

On some occasions, she had heard him murmuring her name in the device. Each times she had waited a few seconds too long before hanging up without saying anything. 

Finally John too had given up saying anything and waited patiently (yet with a tormented heart) that she had hung up. 

 

When Jackie and Pete had been in the vicinity on such occasions he lied asserting it was a mere mistake (but, obviously Jackie knew better). 

Sometimes, he wished that his duties didn't require answering the phone. Every time she called home, she refused to speak to him. Each time, he died a little more. 

He wanted to scream at the world that made him go through that. He continued to behave as the perfect butler he was.  
Once or twice, he had even tried to call her but, at Rose's voice, he had found himself unable to say anything. He had never ever dared to repeat the experience. 

Each time, one or the other, knew exactly who it was at the other end. He considered even writing to her, but he never had the nerve.

 

He wandered through the house like a lost soul. Every room, every daily event, told him stories of her. Eventually, he gave up trying to forget Rose, and without anyone knowing, he spent his free time in their favorite places.  
He was so lost that he visited her room, just to breathe her scent which still permeated the atmosphere.  
Sometimes he reverently touched a hairbrush, or her favorite stuffed animal.  
Once or twice, he fell asleep on her bed, his fatigue winning on his sense. He clung to her pillow like a drowning man clings to a life buoy.

 

Almost every night, Rose, went out with a different man in the hope of getting tipsy enough not to think about him. Waste of time because everything reminded her John. 

Beyond the duties that were normally within his competence, the young butler (having grown attached since the earlier days to the young mistress), had spent his free time entertaining Rose or helping her with her homework or piano lessons. 

John was the one with whom she had practiced for her first dance parties. The one with whom she had watched old movies in the living room, late at night, when the whole house had fallen silent.

Actually, Rose had learnt everything from him... even her first heartbreak. 

 

She was no longer able to remember a single day when she hadn't loved him. She remembered, with infinite tenderness the day almost a decade ago the 23 years old young man had crossed their threshold. And had become, in the wake, a huge part of their lives. He had won her young heart with a single smile. 

Gradually, his duties had become larger, and John Smith had come to hold less and less the place of a mere butler, and had increasingly become a family friend. 

 

As for Rose, he had become her everything. 

 

# 

 

It was John, who received the telegram announcing the news, and brought it on a silver tray to Pete and Jackie Tyler. 

 

After reading it, bless her, Jackie immediately gave a worried and compassionate look towards the butler's livid face. Then, she cast a knowing glance at her husband who nodded surreptitiously. 

 

"Come John, I'd like to talk to you about something," Jackie took him by the arm and led the numb butler into the kitchens. "I think that a good cup of tea is in order. We both need it." 

 

By the time Jackie had gotten rid of the cook and put herself the kettle on, John had almost, recovered his composure. 

 

"Congratulation, Mrs. Tyler You must be very proud of her. He's a very good match." He clasped forcefully his hands under the table to keep them from shaking. 

 

"What? Proud that she marries without warning? Proud that Rose made the mistake of leaving behind the only man she'd ever loved?" 

 

"I don't think that—" John was in agony. 

 

"The man who's crazy in love with her?" Jackie went on apparently oblivious of his interruption. 

But, seeing the expression on his face, she added in a softer tone, "John, I'm sorry, so, so sorry. We'd have been proud if it had worked. We hoped—" 

 

He sighed despondently. "Is there someone in the house who's not aware of?" 

 

"Apart from you two? No," she took his hand, "what will you do?" 

 

"There's nothing I can do now. It's too late. It has always been too late. I couldn't—I can't—" 

 

Under an impulse, John, told her everything. Their dance under the moon, Rose's confession, her kiss and his rejection. He kept silent about the scene which was now (and forever) engraved in his mind. The image which haunted his nightmares and his waking moments ever since. 

 

Jackie stood up and hugged him, squeezing his thin body against hers. They stayed in the tight embrace for a few minutes more, sharing a silence full of regrets. 

 

Eventually, Jackie let him go and looking the butler straight in the eyes asked him: "you will not leave us, will you? I know you well enough to know that you're itching. And this isn't the first time. Promise me you'll stay." 

 

John let out a hiccups of defeat. "I promise." 

 

"Thank you John." 

 

"Thank you... Jackie" 

 

"You're welcome, John. Welcome in the family." 

 

He had been considered part of the family for a very long time, but he understood the real meaning behind Jackie's words and felt deeply moved and grateful. 

 

It was why he decided to stay. 

 

# 

 

Every night he had said to himself that he had to leave. Every morning, he had found more excuses to stay. 

 

Then he received that cursed telegram. 

 

Rose, his Rose, had gotten married. He wanted to howl at the moon. He hadn't seen her arriving at the altar in her white dress. Which, ultimately, was a good thing. He'd have been able to interrupt the ceremony, declare his love for her, abduct her, and then run far away and never ever give her back. 

 

Jackie had dragged him into the kitchens, prepared him a tea, consoled him and had made him promise to stay. 

 

Even though Rose was not coming back. 

 

Jackie had even told him that they knew. Moreover, they'd have approved. It was killing him even more to know that his unnecessary scruples had deprived him of his love. 

John sent her a wedding gift and thought, nevertheless, to leave. 

 

He stayed. 

 

# 

 

Once arrived at her final destination, Rose had settled in a flat, let by Vitex, located in the city-centre and begun her internship. Her colleagues were more than decent, the working atmosphere was friendly, and she was even making good progress in the language. From her balcony she had view on the colorful and cheerfully life of Campo de' Fiori noisy marketplace. She loved being in such a Tower of Babel where languages and colors intermingled without ever getting lost and always understanding each other's. 

 

She had put her foot back in dry land at last, but had not changed her new habits (or her resolve) to be as much in a daze as possible by dating—more or less—the most chased bachelors of the moment. 

Rose was the object of tabloids and gossips. She didn't care. She was willing to do anything provided that she was allowed to forget John. Needless to say, it was the most complete failure. 

 

After a few months of an apparently carefree life, she met at an embassy party, the younger son of a Count. 

James Stone had the arrogance given by money earned by others. He had also the charm of danger, blond hair and blue eyes. In short, he was the exact opposite of a certain, brown-haired, brown-eyed, butler. 

Without thinking she let him court her and very soon found herself dating the young man only. When he asked her to marry him she said yes. When he asked her to a romantic and a very intimate ceremony she said yes, again. 

This was how she found herself, at almost 22, married to a man she had married out of love for another. 

 

She sent her parents a rhapsodic telegram about her happiness and her new husband's qualities. Every word was a stab in her heart. 

 

James Stone, Jimmy to his friends, hadn't been the youngest son of an Earl, could have easily found his place in the least advisable areas of any city. 

Only fortuity had put them front of each other. Rose didn't want to attend the party organized by the Embassy. Jimmy had, as usual, others projects: his usual raids with his mates in the slums of the city in search of thrills. 

 

Lady Clara Oswald, a recent great friend, had dragged Rose, willingly or by force, to the party in question. Jimmy had been dragged by the paternal ire and his father’s threat to cut his allowance in case he didn't give any sign to look for a good match. 

 

He liked Rose immediately. Her grace, her beauty and character (that promised to be combative, thus stimulating), had attracted him like a magnet. 

 

Jimmy began his formal and proper courting. He loved the challenge represented by this ice beauty. 

This beautiful woman who nobody really managed to impress. He wanted to win. He wanted her and he'd have her. Like any self-respecting narcissist, he knew how to charm and how to display sweetness. He was the only one, between many, to know how to conquer her. 

 

Rose ultimately wasn't too unhappy. She didn't dislike her married life and she enjoyed a certain freedom that allowed her to continue working. 

 

But everything having the reverse of the medal, Rose found herself, quickly enough, regularly visiting the major hospitals in Rome. 

 

Until, three years later, the Gemelli Hospital called her Consulate. 

 

# 

 

Once again it was the butler who heard the news first. He almost definitely lose his mind. 

 

It took all Pete's persuasiveness and the threat of a good slap (or two) from his wife to decide 

John not to take the first aeroplane to fetch Rose himself. 

As a bonus, he itched to give the culprit a good lesson and make him wish he had never ever lifted a single finger on Rose. 

He left her parents pick up their daughter, and resigned himself to wait at home. 

 

Pete, however, allowed him to take all the legal issues in his capable hand. The butler's gift for languages and his determination, were a considerable asset. Apart from the determination of a heart so very much in love. 

 

In any case, John, was now unstoppable. 

 

 

John was in a tizzy. Almost crazy from apprehension, in many respects, he was pacing, like a caged animal, in the grand hall of the ground floor. 

 

Finally, the tyres of the limousine screeched into the driveway leading to the mansion. Pete and 

Jackie came out supporting Rose. 

John's heart missed a beat or two. She was there. She was alive. He loved her with all he was worth for. 

 

The first look she laid on him, nearly killed John on the spot. 

 

He immediately put back his “perfect butler” mask on his face. Oh, had she known how every frigid look she laid on him was a full stomach punch, she wouldn't have had this expression of icy indifference on her features. 

 

"Miss Rose, welcome home," he forced his facial expression to match hers. 

 

"It's Mrs. Stone. Good day Mr. Smith," then, turning towards her parents, "I'd rather take my meals in my room, if possible. At least for the time being." 

 

# 

 

The first few weeks since Rose's homecoming were a real martyrdom for John. 

Each time he looked at her he couldn't help but see her as she had been in his arms. Innocent, yet vibrant with passion. Declaring him her love before kissing him. After all this time, he could still almost feel the warmth of her full lips. 

 

Alas, he could also see her as she had been when he had surprised her in the gardens. He wished with all his heart to rewind the past and change things. Every single thing. 

 

The contrast with the present was striking. It was against her very will that Rose accepted him before her. If it hadn't been for her crutches, she would have left the place as soon as John entered the same room. Even more seldom she stayed but she locked herself in her silences and avoided looking at him. 

 

John was thinking of resigning for good. Jackie, like a mother hen who knew her chick, urged him to stay and fight for Rose. 

 

"Wait for her, John. She’ll come back to you. She is still in shock and she’s afraid that you reject her again... but Rose loves you with all her heart. Have faith, young man, and don't be in such a hurry." 

 

John remained sceptical. How could he dare hope? 

He couldn't help but need to witness, through her eyes, at the sunrise every morning and at the sunset every night. Even against her own will. So he stayed. 

 

And he waited for her. And he loved her. And, in the end, he hoped. 

 

Each night going to bed he loved her a little more than the same morning getting up. 

 

He spent his time waiting. Waiting for her. Knowing that he would have waited all his life, if necessary.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

 

"John? " 

 

"Mmm? " 

 

"Do you reckon I'll get married one day?" 

 

John looked up from his work and gazed at her fondly, "Of course you will." 

 

Rose bit her lip. "Do you think I’ll marry a man I love and who loves me?" 

 

He put aside the silver tray which he was polishing."Certainly Miss Rose. But why all these questions?" he stared at her with a fond and vaguely questioning look. "Have you got someone in mind? A friend or an old classmate perhaps?" 

 

Rose blushed profusely and fidgeted nervously her earring. "No... Yes. No... Not really. I was just wondering if I'll find someone who can love me for well... me." 

 

He took her hand tenderly, shamefully relieved that she had not (yet) anyone in particular in mind. "You’re the prettiest and smartest young woman of my acquaintance, Miss Rose. One should be blind not to see it. And from what I’ve seen your friends have a very good sight. 

You’ve nothing to fear." He wouldn't have admitted out loud for anything in the world (especially to her) that his sight was more than perfect. In this regard, at least. 

 

"Are you sure ? Do you really think I'm pretty?" Rose seemed to look for something in his eyes and he hastened to hide any non-platonic feelings behind a much more acceptable... friendly affection. 

 

"Absolutely. Everybody loves you," He gave her a fondly smile. 

 

"But you...do you think I'm pretty?" 

 

John took the cloth and began to polish the tray again. "Of course, you are. You know that. Lovely as a dream, I've already told it dozens of times. Go now, Miss Rose, let me finish this and don't be worried." 

 

 

John wondered what would have happened if, at that time, he had told her how he thought her more than attractive. Perfect even. What would have happened if he had made her understand that he— 

No, he had been right. He had no right to ruin her life by trapping her with him. He hadn't much to offer to Rose, and even though she had accepted, she would have quickly grown tired of him and would have left. John didn't believe he might have withstood this without crumbling definitively. How could he have gone on, living without her, having had a glimpse of the joy and perfection of being loved by her? 

This was what had decided him to keep silent and reject her. In any case he had lost her. In any way that mattered. 

 

He tore himself away from his memories and the sight of the young woman herself flirting, shamelessly if you asked his opinion, with the son of a nondescript tycoon and went out through the french doors searching for some fresh air. 

 

Rose had resumed her riotous life and, to his great chagrin, the mansion was filled with more or less serious suitors. 

John had seen her going out almost every night and couldn't help but make a mental note of who had come fetching her and how often. 

This one in particular had come to pick her way too often for his taste. He wanted to grab him by the scruff of the neck and throw him out. He witnessed impotent the court that the last hunk in line made to Rose. His Rose. 

 

Jackie sighed, and wisely advised him to look elsewhere. “If you don't see it, then it can't hurt you. Right?” 

Obviously he didn't succeed. He kept having to make stupid smiles of circumstance at those blokes, while all he wanted, was to accompany them out. Without any finesse. 

 

He wished he had enough nerve to tell her that nobody could love her as he loved Rose. He itched to tell her that he was the only one who had seen her without makeup, or in her pyjama and slippers. That he had seen her with puffy eyes from tears and that he had continued to find her wonderfully beautiful. Precisely even more than beautiful. 

 

He wanted to scream to the world that nobody knew Rose as he knew her. This was the very reason why he loved her. Because he knew her soul. 

He wanted to claim her as his. He wanted to tell her and to the entire universe that he had been the only one there for her. Always. The only thing she had to do was held her hand out to find his ready to welcome hers.

He continued to keep silent and witness his world crumble around him. 

 

# 

 

Weeks passed while John, in greatest secrecy (as far as Rose was concerned, at least), pulled all the triggers he could think to in order to get Rose's divorce without scandal. Indeed she did know nothing. 

 

After the butler's one mysterious trip, Jimmy Stone left for Africa and never ever rocked the boat again since. 

Neither Pete nor Jackie asked the butler questions, nor did he offer them answers. 

 

Despite Pete's insistences for her daughter to be in the confidence, so that she would know to whom she should be really grateful, John, had never wanted to appear in the negotiations. He stubbornly asserted Rose's parents that it was so much better that way. 

 

Rose had long abandoned her crutches and continued, more or less, to dodge him. John wandered around the mansion like a lost soul. A quiet and efficient ghost. 

 

The day she finally obtained her divorce the Tylers organized a small party. 

 

# 

 

Rose, in a long, elegant evening gown, sat at her dressing table wondering about the last time she had been in a similar occasion at the mansion. 

 

It had been her 20th birthday, several years back. It had been the night she had whispered her love to the butler. The night she had kissed him and he had rejected her. The night she had... The memory and the suffering were still very much alive in her heart. As well as an indelebile feeling of shame. 

 

Despite all her efforts, Rose continued to love him, helplessly. Despite all the efforts, which John deployed to try to talk to her, she didn't feel brave enough to be nothing more than hardly polite to him. She was too afraid to let herself soften, thus hope again. The only way to protect her heart was to put some distance and a cold politeness while interacting with him. 

 

She saw very well that each passing day darkened more and more the circles under the butler's eyes and that his pinstriped suit fitted him larger and larger. However, Rose, didn't want to submit her heart (which was bruised enough) to the hopeful thought that she might be responsible somehow. 

 

 

The mansion was still empty of its guests, so she went down the main staircase and walked to the winter garden in search of a few more moments of solitude. 

 

A tall silhouette, in tuxedo, turning his back to her, was already there. He seemed lost in thought and had his forehead pressed against the window. She made to turn and run away but John had heard her and turned. His eyes were haunted, and his freckles stood out on his, even paler than usual, face. 

 

He quickly regained his composure, "Miss Rose," he bowed slightly in greeting. 

 

"Mr. Smith." 

 

He grimaced. "John. Rose, why don't you call me John anymore? You always have, since you were very young." His eyes wore a desperate pleading. 

 

"If you insist... John," her features had hardened. 

Why did he always manage to affect her? Why couldn't she resist the siren song represented by this so very much exasperating man? 

 

"You are as beautiful as the daylight. As usual." 

 

"Don't say that, I forbid you," her whole posture indicated a poorly contained rage. 

 

"It's true, though." 

 

"If you keep saying this I'll go," Rose had already turned, and made a few steps towards the door. It was useless because John, in two strides, had already caught her up, and stood again in front of Rose. 

 

"I'm sorry for that night," his eyes were imploring. 

 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

 

"Yet, we must. Rose, I'm really sorry for what what happened that cursed night." 

 

"No, it's I who am sorry. I shouldn't have had thrown myself at your head and— " 

 

"I've regretted it the very moment. I haven't stopped since. I should have—" 

 

"Let's forget that, shall we? I believe that we'll only cause harm to ourselves." 

 

"Please let's stop avoiding each other. We live in the same house, we can't continue this way," he paused and sighed. "Rose, I can't any longer. I can't stand it anymore. It's killing me. Let's go back to being friends." 

 

"Why?" 

 

"Because I need it. Because I missed you. All this time, I've missed you. When you weren't there and even now, that you refuse me your friendship, I miss you. Because it was so much better before. Because it's better with two. Do I have to give you more reasons? Because I will continue if you don't." He gave her a shy smile despite the passionate tone of his tirade. 

 

Rose's heart capsized out of love for this man, so proud yet, so passionate. This wonderful man who had bared his whole soul and thrown it at her feet. She decided, in a split of a second, to risk her heart nevertheless. "I missed you too, John. And you’re right, it's better with two," she finally smiled and held out her hand. "So, friends?" 

 

He took it. As they shook hands, his beautiful eyes finally lit by something one would dare call hope. "Friends." 

 

She smiled and for John the world stopped turning and was reduced to one Rose's smile. 

 

# 

 

John stood front against one of the windows, when Rose entered the winter garden. Seeing her reminded him how he had irrationally contemplated leaving immediately for Rome, full of vindictive intentions, when the Consulate had contacted them. 

 

Instead he made every effort to obtain her a swift divorce. 

 

Rose was returning. 

 

 

When he saw her, for the first time, after all these years, his heart almost stopped beating. So beautiful despite her crutches and the fading traces of blows. 

He wanted to run to her, take her in his arms, and never let her go. Then, he noticed her gaze. It froze him on the spot. 

 

He thought that his suffering was over. It was just beginning. Rose ignored him. Rose strode out of the room when he entered it. She barely spoke to him. He was in despair. 

 

Jackie told him to wait. She'd return to him. They'd be delighted. 

 

He would have waited a lifetime. 

 

Pete persuaded him to attend the divorce party. As a guest. "It's thanks to you John, the least you can do is to celebrate with us." 

 

So, there he was, in the winter garden, reliving the last years. He was also wondering if it was time to finally gather his courage and give her up for good when Rose walked in. 

 

Beautiful, so beautiful. Proud and passionate and so Rose. He felt even more in love, if possible. His determination relented. He decided to go and fight for her. 

 

He decided that he wouldn't anymore allow her to run away. He would fight with everything he had, and he would win. 

 

# 

 

The guests were scattered through the park and the ballroom. The orchestra was playing some famous songs. 

 

Rose had the dreadful feeling that she was living a certain evening so long ago all over again. 

The only notable difference being the presence the butler. 

She was surprised that he had accepted to attend the party. But, actually, this man didn't stop surprising her. And making her love him just as much as before. Even more, if possible. 

 

 

He was feeling as if time hadn't passed at all. The same guests danced in the same ballroom. The same orchestra played the same music. 

It would be now or never. It all comes full circle, doesn't it? In a way it would be poetic. 

 

John's eyes scanned the crowd to ascertain Rose's presence, then walked to the orchestra and discussed a few moments with the musicians. He vowed himself that this time he wouldn't miss his chance. 

 

A few minutes later the first notes of “Moonlight Serenade” were to be heard. 

He approached Rose, and took her hand pulling her with him towards the gardens. 

 

"Dance with me, Rose." His voice maddening low and flirting. 

 

She crossed her arms against her chest defensively: "No." 

 

"This is our song, you cannot refuse," he pulled her towards him squeezing her against his thin body. 

 

They started dancing, lulled by the music. At first nobody spoke, each lost in their memories. 

 

He leaned: "Rose?" His breath tickling her ear, his voice a mere whisper. 

 

"What?" She looked up, eyes questioning, voice slightly quivering. 

 

"I love you." He kissed her, putting the slightest pressure, mirroring her kiss so long ago. 

 

She pushed him away frowning. "You can't do this." 

 

He pulled her against his chest again. "I can do everything. I'm in love." He kissed her again, lips parted, tongue slightly probing. Rose moaned. 

 

"You’re not serious." Sighing she pushed him away again. Much less firmly. 

 

He brought her back against his chest. "I’m very much serious. Marry me, Rose." He repossessed her lips, his decidedly parted and massaging hers. 

 

She made no longer any effort to move. "You don't love me," she murmured briefly before their tongues began battling for dominance. 

 

"Indeed. I'm just madly in love with you. And I'll prove you it every day of our shared life. 

Besides, you do love me too." He peppered her lips and jaws with wet kisses. 

 

"No. I don’t." Should she really make things easy for him after all this suffering? Didn't he deserved to doubt just a little? Maybe not. Not too long in any case. She was tired of suffering. 

Moreover he was worth to be given a chance. 

Finally she took the lead and anchoring herself to him with one hand, she kissed him passionately. Her other hand scratching the back of his neck, where his hair was short. He moaned in her mouth. 

 

After a long moment they broke apart, needing to breathe. "Yes, you do. Since you were twelve," he was literally panting. 

Rose felt a surge of feminine pride for rendering him in such a dishevelled state. 

 

"Rose?" his voice came out breathlessly. He fell silent for a heartbeat, trying to regain his control, then he kissed her hair, her forehead... Everywhere he could reach without separating their bodies. 

 

“Rose?” This time his voice sounded firmer. Rose thought that his voice wasn't the only part of him being...firmer. 

 

"What now?" Despite her tone she wasn't annoyed. At all. John could hear Rose's smile in her voice. He kissed her again, smiling against her lips, savouring each point of contact between them. 

 

"You are going to marry a pervert. I, too, have loved you since you were 12." While he kissed her open-mouthed, his hands were firmly fastened to her posterior. He hummed contentedly. 

 

“Did I say yes? I don't recall saying yes.” She returned the courtesy and pinched his bum as her other hand continued her exploration of John's neck. She regretted not having more hands; he had so many parts... hardly explored. 

 

“You didn't need to. You’re in love with me and I’m in love with you. That makes things quite simple.” For the first time since several moments he appeared deadly serious and hesitant: “Marry me, love.” 

 

"You're our butler. What will people say?" 

 

"I'll resign." He went on kissing her, his hands roaming her backside making her moan again. 

 

"How are we going to live if you lose your job?" 

 

"I don't care, I'm marrying a very rich woman." 

 

She gave up fighting and kissed him with all her worth. Anyway, he was right. She had loved him since she was 12 and this was not likely to change. Ever.


End file.
